Hate Poem--Julie Sheehan

I'm cleaning my room [I keep getting distracted either by the computer or by all the things I find] and I was sorting through everything I got from my Creative Writing teacher. I found a poem that she gave us and that Will sent me last year. Ms. Wagenschutz, my Creative Writing teacher loves this poem. I thought I'd post it, to see what you think of it.

Hate Poem

by Julie Sheehan

I hate you truly. Truly I do.

Everything about me hates everything about you.

The flick of my wrist hates you.

The way I hold my pencil hates you.

The sound made by my tiniest bones were they trapped

in the jaws of a moray eel hates you.

Each corpuscle singing in its capillary hates you.

Look out! Fore! I hate you.

The blue-green jewel of sock lint I'm digging

from under by third toenail, left food, hates you.

The history of this keychain hates you.

My sigh in the background as you explain relational databases

hates you.

The goldfish of my genius hates you.

My aorta hates you. Also my ancestors.

A closed window is both a closed window and an obvious

symbol of how I hate you.

My voice curt as a hairshirt: hate.

My hesitation when you invite me for a drive: hate.

My pleasant "good morning": hate.

You know how when I'm sleepy I nuzzle my head

under your arm? Hate.

The whites of my target-eyes articulate hate. My wit

practices it.

My breasts relaxing in their holster from morning

to night hate you.

Layers of hate, a parfait.

Hours after our latest row, brandishing the sharp glee of hate,

I dissect you cell by cell, so that I might hate each one

individually and at leisure.

My lungs, duplicitous twins, expand with the utter validity

of my hate, which can never have enough of you.

Breathlessly, like two idealists in a broken submarine.

This is from Poetry 180, a poem a day for american high schools. Now, substitute each "hate" with "love."

love, grace